I had an unusually vivid dream last night I call “The Curse of the Anunnaki.”

Speeding through the inkiness of outer-space; in a spherical craft with large oval windows, surrounded by fellow crew persons, I am struck with a sudden sense of dread. Outside stuck to the glass and leering with soulful, black eyes — two ghostly “Anunnaki,” are attempting telepathic communications.

“That ain’t good,” I say to myself. What do they want with us; these harbingers of doom?

The picture becomes blurry and dims out — I awake disoriented.

The Anunnaki have transported me through time and space to a very different world than I am accustom to. For a purpose — their own evil purposes — I know not what. It is a world where imperial Rome never fell into the dark ages, but soldiered on into a 20th century not unlike Earth’s 1960’s.

The sword, slavery, games-to-the-death, debauchery, bread and circuses, are as natural to these Romans as to their progenitors — with all the modern conveniences technology has to offer.

Swordplay, begins in earnest as I fight for my life. I am an expert swordsman, but my opponent, is also adept with a blade. I fatally wound him and am rewarded with my freedom.

Now, a “freeman,” I cavort and celebrate with the other survivors. Slaves are brought in for our pleasure. I am particularly enamored of a young male slave but alas, my flirtations are rebuffed. I am alive but unsatisfied.

The picture becomes blurry and dims out — I awake disoriented.

Our mission, nearing completion, I am once again on board my craft. spacepersons, yawn and rub their eyes in an attempt to gain focus.

The captain, calls out “Set course for Daosiubaiu-Hygids-XIII …warp speed.

A superbly written piece by Denise Chow, of SPACE[dot]com, based on Texas State researcher’s trip to Lake Geneva’s Villa Diodati (some vacation) that is — if you believe Mary Shelley actually wrote the novel Frankenstein — in the first place.

“…a long-standing controversy over whether the account is true, or if the author took some liberties…”

Many ‘modern scholars’ doubt Mary Shelley even wrote the Novel at all. This in spite of the fact it was submitted to the publishers in her own handwriting. The fact is; Mary was a gifted copyist, taking dictation from her literary parents, Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin.

True enough, the original text of Frankenstein is definitively in Mary Shelley’s handwriting, but this is no argument for her authorship, because she often acted as scribe for Percy Bysshe Shelley, her husband and probable author of the novel.

Ad to this the fact, that none of her other published works come even close to the genius of Frankenstein, and you have a greater mystery than — was the Moon shining through her window on the night of her supposed monstrous inspiration’s birth?